A Walk or a Hike?

 I just wanted to let you know that my husband and I completed a 3.25-mile hike on the Peewah Trail at Trail of Tears State Park. My husband said that it would be impressive and I could tell everyone about my accomplishment. If you are not duly impressed, I better let you know the rest of the story.

Ron and I enjoy taking walks, usually in the neighborhood, sometimes when we are out of town. We recently took a couple of days off for our anniversary and drove to Cape Girardeau, MO. We knew that there were a couple of state parks with some hiking trails in the area and we thought that walking a mile or so along one of these trails would be a good way to enjoy an hour or two together. We went to the Visitor's Center at the park and got a map of the trails. I should have worried when I asked her how hard the trail was and she replied that we should be able to do it since we were wearing hiking shoes. As she described that there were some hills and tree roots I should have been listening better. She gave us a trail map that Ron stuck in his pocket.

So we drove to the trailhead and grabbed the 1/2 filled water bottle that was in the car. (We had left the cooler at the hotel.) Despite the weather report calling for rain, we started out with the sun shining and the temperatures in the mid-seventies. We went up and down the first couple of hills and they were a little steep. Ron said it was about the same as the hill leading to our house, I reminded him that the road to our house is paved and isn't 3.25 miles. He also on every uphill shouted out that downhill can be harder than uphill. I responded only when you have sore knees, and that is not a problem for either of us. 

The views of the Mississippi River were fantastic and the autumn leaves were stunning as we ambled along. The temperature was creeping up and the hills were starting to feel steeper. Ron pulled out the map and we realized we had not even gotten even halfway along the loop. I finally looked at the map and realized that those topographic lines that show you how steep the hills are were very close together and there was a whole lot of them. I was kind of watching the clock and figured that walking on pavement we should do about three miles an hour, so a casual walk on a path should be maybe twice that? About this point, the walk became a hike and was less enjoyable as I started thinking about how tired and out of breath I was becoming. I was also getting jealous of my husband, who is a good five years older than me, moving at a pretty quick clip and wearing a dress shirt and khakis. Every time I stopped to catch my breath, he would be concerned but confused. I started having "what if" thoughts about possible illness or accident way out in the middle of nowhere and no way to get rescued. It didn't help any when Ron decided it would be a good idea to spread out about ten feet so if one of us falls, we don't knock down the other one. I definitely was not enjoying this chore of finishing the hike at this point.

We kept tramping along, got off the trail by about 100 feet once, and had to stop to figure out where the trail went three or four times. I did trip and fall one time and threatened Ron with his life when he started to pull out his phone to take a picture. Eventually, after almost two hours we figured out where we were on the map and I felt better knowing that we were heading back toward the trailhead. About this time I also noticed that the breeze was getting cold and damp and there was a faint sound of thunder in the distance. Thinking about the impending rainstorm just made us move a little faster.

We got back to our car after two hours and fifty minutes. I looked at the sign and besides listing all the hazards of the trail, it gave a suggested time to plan for the trip. 3.5 hours. I just looked at the sign, then at Ron, and then back at the sign. We had just basically sprinted around that trail! I had not enjoyed the hike because I thought that I was lazy and out of shape when we could have stopped many more times and still been typical hikers. Ron is almost a foot taller than me and his legs are much longer so he was taking fewer steps. Also, my ego wouldn't let me admit that he is just better than me at long walks, probably genetically. 

Yes, we will go hiking again. No, I will not feel guilty about setting a slower pace. I will definitely plan better, bringing enough water and looking at the map more carefully. I will try to be less competitive and just enjoy the moment.

It Shows

 I had the opportunity to spend two weeks in a kindergarten classroom recently and was reminded of how honest they are about what goes on in their life.  I also was reminded that they usually do not have the communication skills to express their feelings well, nor the ability to make many changes in their lives. 

When they get tired, they either fall asleep in their chair or do whatever it takes to stay awake and alert; often this involves making noise or moving in ways that the teacher does not condone. When they are scared or worried, you might see tears, but you are just as likely to see anger or silliness.

I think as parents or other involved adults, we often are so wrapped up in our own problems that we forget that our children have feelings about what they see and perceive. Most teachers can tell when a child is exposed to some kind of change at home. It might be a sick relative, a missing pet, a change in the family routine, or something else that they have no control over. Often the adults have little or no control either. But some things the adults do have control over. No child should have to listen to the adults around him/her argue or fight. They should not have to listen to one adult put down another adult.  They definitely should not have to be exposed to immoral behavior whether it is drug use or theft, or violence towards a person or place. 

Yes, your child's teacher knows when there is something that your child is struggling with, whether it is a change in your work hours, a fight with an ex-spouse, or any of a myriad of other things. But you, as a parent, can do much more to help your child verbalize and deal with his/her emotions. Sometimes you can fix the problem, sometimes, not, but you are the one most likely to be able to pinpoint what it is that is hurting your child's heart.

So, when you are at your wit's end, even if it is not intuitive, give your child an extra hug, spend a couple of minutes talking to him/her, remember that they are feeling most of the same stresses you are and they cannot control anything about it.

Phone Conversations With Dad

My Mom has been struggling with Alzheimer's. It is a horrible disease that slowly robs the victim. But I want to talk about my Dad who has been having to deal with his wife of over 60 years slowly disappear and his world turn upside down.

My Dad has always been kind of quiet, especially at home. He seldom told you what he was thinking and would never disagree with Mom in front of us. Most of our conversations were about sports or about family members or maybe his giving us some advice. He was strict, but seldom emotional.

When we grew up and moved out of the house we were all expected to call once a week and talk to Mom. Dad would get on the other line and listen in, but he seldom said anything. Mom would pick up the phone, she would call Dad, then she would check to make sure he picked up and then we would talk. Often Dad would not say a word until it was time to say goodbye. I guess I presumed he was listening, never really thought about it, but he always knew what was going on with me.

When Mom was diagnosed several years ago, it was hard for both of them. Dad had been taking care or the financial needs and Mom would take care of the physical needs but that was going to change. Dad cut back on his work schedule and his social life and also allowed us kids to help him for the first time. He gradually stepped in and took some of Mom's load and paid for help in the areas he couldn't handle. About a year ago Mom got to the point that she could not live in the house and moved to the skilled care center. That is the point that I was not calling home to talk to Mom, but to Dad.

In the past year I have gotten to know my Dad in a different way. He couldn't just sit and listen on the phone. At first the conversation was mostly about Mom, but gradually we have learned. He tells me more about how he is doing and what he is doing. He is gradually learning to ask the questions Mom used to and I am learning that he really was interested in what I was saying all along. We talk about the weather, and the family and about sports, but sometimes we start to get on a more intimate level. He will talk about his reminisces and his memories; that conversation was always be filtered through Mom in the past.

Last week he told me about reading through the letters he and Mom wrote back and forth while he was in the service. She told him about her new niece, my cousin. Dad reflected how much has changed. That baby is now a grandmother and the young lovers who were fascinated by that baby were married, raised six children of their own and have been blessed by 20 grandchildren and two great grandchildren. This is a part of my Dad I had never met before.

It is hard to watch my Mom deteriorate and my Dad suffer through it with her. But I am very blessed that I am getting to know a part of my Dad that he used to only share with Mom. I know that as both of them age, our relationships will evolve and there will be some sad times; but I am learning to embrace the positive pieces, the intimate times.  

Writing with God's Little Pencil

Okay, I have a blog, I have a theme for my blog and I have a few ideas. But you might wonder why I started this? This really isn't my idea.

Now don't get me wrong, I like having people read what I write, I really like when they tell me that I write well and that they enjoy what I wrote. But God told me that this in not what the Catholic Pickle Jar is about. Let me explain.

I do enjoy putting my thoughts on paper, I think I write better than I speak. But I had gotten away from writing anything to get published the past few years. I did some professional writing in an educational journal about 15 years ago, but since then the most creative thing I wrote was our annual Christmas newsletter. However, I occasionally toyed with the idea to write for profit.

Recently I started seeing posts about www.Catholic365.com looking for volunteers to write essays. These posts kind of ate at my heart and I finally sat down to the keyboard and wrote an essay to contribute. The next day I checked and there were over 1000 shares, I don't have that many friends; I am pretty sure I don't even know 1000 people that I could convince to open up a web page, much less to share. Of course my ego goes into high gear and I start thinking about being a rich, well known author and living off the income all through retirement. 

Then God laughed at me. Second article was not nearly as popular and I get a case of writer's block. I start second guessing myself and backing down from my grandiose plans.

Then Saturday comes and I go to the Catholic Women for Christ Conference. I can't tell you what the speakers said, I think the theme was something about setting the world on fire, but I know what I heard. Between the lines God was telling me that I do need to write about being Catholic; I didn't need to worry about numbers of hits or appealing to a broad audience; he would take care of making sure the person who needed to see my message would. By the lunch break I was in a cold sweat and my heart was pounding in my chest. I wasn't actually crying, but felt like I was about to start. I told the ladies I came with to not wait for me for lunch and headed for the Adoration Chapel. I sat down and asked God what did He want of me. It only took me about ten minutes and I had mentally committed to writing from a Catholic viewpoint, not plan on being a financial success, know that even if my audience is small, God will help the people that need to see my page find it. (If this whole scene sounds weird to you, imagine how I was feeling.)

I went home and by the next day had www.theCatholicpicklejar.blogspot.com set up. I still am not quite sure how this all came together. If anything on here ever inspires you, please share with others. I promised God that I was going to do my best work and not just throw just anything up there to increase traffic or boost my ego.

I was thinking while I was driving to work today that God is asking a lot of me, I go to church, I raised my kids pretty well, I try to be a good wife, I even work at a Catholic homeless shelter. How big a piece of me does the Lord want? But I know the answer to that; He, who gave me all, wants all of me. I guess I will just have to see where this ride takes me.

“I am a little pencil in God's hands. He does the thinking. He does the writing. He does everything and sometimes it is really hard because it is a broken pencil and He has to sharpen it a little more.”

Blessed Mother Theresa of Calcutta

P.S. to the Catholics who keep track of feast days, note the date. Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us sinners